Chapter 12: Keeping Up Appearances - The Night Market

Steam ghosted over the bathroom mirror as Laik brushed his teeth, one hand braced against the cool marble counter. His reflection stared back at him – sharp, pale and expressionless. The faint points of his fangs peeked through before receding neatly into his gums with a soft click. A practised motion for their kind, as automatic as combing his hair or straightening a tie.

He rinsed, spat, wiped the mirror clean, almost knocking over a pink bottle of deodorant. He’d noticed it getting worse over the last few weeks – make-up brushes splayed beside the sink, a half-open compact leaving traces of powder on the counter. Bottles of perfume and cheap moisturiser scattered among his razors and cologne, a Hello Kitty toothbrush leaning haphazardly in a mug that wasn’t his. It was like the room itself had started to rebel against his sense of order, one product at a time.

The towel around his waist clung low on his hips as he crossed the hall into his room, its order greeting him like a habit. No clutter. No photos. Just clean lines and clear surfaces. A bed crisply made, contents of a desk aligned precisely.

The towel was placed over a chair with the same precision as everything else. He moved unhurried, retrieving underwear, stepping into dark trousers, threading a belt through its loops. Socks next, then he laced up a pristine pair of black dress shoes. While he did so, his mind remained unburdened, his movements automatic.

Laik pulled on his shirt, buttoned it methodically, then reached for his watch – the one constant that had followed him through years of doing this kind of work. The cufflinks clicked into place. Jacket next. Tie. The motions filled the silence.

He paused, then caught himself glancing toward the adjoining wall. Pepper’s room.

They hadn’t spoken since the argument. He could still hear the glass bursting into pieces, the tremor in her voice when she’d thrown her words like knives. They had missed their aim but somehow still managed to cut.

He’d told himself she was being unreasonable. He’d told himself she deserved his frustration. But in the stillness of his room, it was harder to believe his own excuses.

A dull thud broke the quiet – something from next door. Something falling, maybe. He sighed, rolling his shoulders back. Tonight wasn’t the night for grudges. Not with the Cavendishes’ guests arriving. Not with the tower full of eyes.

He adjusted his tie, smoothed his jacket, and opened the door.

The corridor lights ran cold and white along the polished floor. As Laik stepped out, the door further down swung open – Pepper and Viola emerging together.

Pepper looked transformed. Her hair swept up in a knot, her crisp waistcoat and tailored trousers lending her an air of authority that didn’t need to be spoken. She wasn’t going to be there to dazzle – she was there to impress.

Viola followed, all grace and calculation. Her outfit was sharp but not severe – a tailored blazer of deep plum over a black satin blouse, paired with slim trousers and silver heels that clicked like punctuation marks when she walked. She was elegance edged in steel.

Pepper caught sight of him and paused just long enough to look him up and down, one hand busy fastening an earring.

Viola’s eyes flicked between the two of them, reading the air. Then she smiled, slow and knowing.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘for all your numerous flaws, I have to admit, at least you clean up pretty good.’

Laik exhaled through his nose, halfway between amusement and fatigue. ‘Thanks. I’ll try to stay this tolerable for the next ten minutes.’

‘Ten? That would be a personal record for you,’ Viola said lightly. ‘Aim lower, so none of us get disappointed.’

Pepper smirked faintly, but her eyes didn’t linger long. Laik turned to her, tone gentler.

‘You look nice.’

Her reply was flat. ‘Yeah, well you look like a liar.’

Viola laughed under her breath. ‘Excuse me – where was my compliment?’

Laik glanced at her, deadpan, as he fixed his radio earpiece on an ear. ‘Didn’t realise it was an obligation.’

‘It’s not. Just good manners.’

Laik’s jaw twitched, the only hint of irritation breaking through. He looked between them, both effortlessly composed, both ready for the stage ahead. With a dry scoff, he unlocked the front door and held it open.

‘Let’s go,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Best we hurry. Wouldn’t want to be keeping anyone important waiting.’

The women ventured out to the hall – Viola graceful, Pepper measured, flicking her eyes to him upon passing. And Laik took to his silence again, walking ahead like a man who couldn’t quite decide which was harder to swallow: his pride or his regret.